


we all burn down

by sleepylouis



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Inferred abuse, M/M, harry has pyromania, louis is a klepto, probably lots of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-24
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-03-08 19:55:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3221408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepylouis/pseuds/sleepylouis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>he's got nicotine lips and kisses that burn like vodka. his eyes are full of flames.</p><p>his name is louis.</p><p>- or -</p><p>the au where louis has fire in his eyes and harry is just a kid who's always been hopelessly attracted to things that burn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we all burn down

**Author's Note:**

> well here we are again with another fic that was supposed to be something 100% different and turned into this
> 
> sighs

no one has ever understood harry's fascination.

 

which is fine. more than fine, actually. it was never meant for other people to understand. harry doesn't feel the need to explain himself, especially to those who would never get it. his mind, the secret interworkings of his brain, they aren't meant for scrutiny.

 

besides. there's a quiet beauty about mystery.

 

at least harry thinks so.

 

maybe that's what lured him to fire in the first place--the mystery behind the flickering flames, the writhing ache behind the burn, the heat that promised warmth and pain at the same time. harry struck his first match at age six, and all he remembers is the shifting in his mind, the little voice telling him _this is right, this is addicting, this is power._

harry is seventeen and they've got a name for people like him.

 

_pyromaniac._

still, it's all bullshit to harry. he isn't _sick_ or _mentally_ unwell. he likes the flicker of the flames. he likes to see things burn because it's _beautiful._ he likes to set fires and feel the heat on his skin. it isn't a _disease_ and he doesn't need _help,_ but the professionals say otherwise.

 

they call it a _support group._

_"a month away with people like you,"_ the psychiatrists told him kindly. _"it's the best thing for your case."_

_for your case._ that was his defense six months ago for the arson he was charged with. mental instability. blameless. not completely sane. definitely not deserving of jail time. the judge took pity on him with kind gestures and soft words, like he was too simple to understand the court proceedings. his lawyer was good. or so they say.

 

harry just wants to climb on top of the nearest building and scream _i'm not mad! i'm not sick! i don't need help!_ but somehow he thinks the message would get slightly lost.

 

everyone thinks he's out of his mind.

 

his mum, his step dad, gemma, his friends. they all watch him carefully, like he might explode at any second. they stare a lot too. when harry is eating, when he's laying on the sofa, when he's watching tv. their eyes are always on him, as if he's a specimen under scientific study. it's so irritating, harry has taken to hiding in his room most of the time.

 

he isn't _insane._

harry tells that to himself a lot as he lays in bed, his finger running carelessly over his box of matches _._ the moonlight spills across his alabaster skin and the stars shimmer through the windows _._ harry lights one of his precious matchsticks and watches the flame dance in the night _._ he closes his eyes and brings the flame close to his lips, shuddering at the burning pain shooting through his veins, feeling the exhilaration rush through his body--

 

harry isn't insane.

 

_but no one believes him._

[+]

 

(day one)

 

the first thing harry notices about the mental institution is the false cheeriness of it all.

 

the walls are a sickening yellow with stenciled flowers decorating every inch. the television has a peppy self-motivation video playing. generic bullshit quotes are scattered everywhere-- _today is the day you take charge of your life!_ even the staff, who are dressed in bright scrubs, have plastic-looking smiles that don't quite reach their eyes.

 

harry is strongly reminded of a primary school classroom.

 

his parents are sitting next to him. they keep a steady flow of forced conversation as they wait in the lobby. they comment on how friendly this place seems. anne makes a joke that the food served here will never compete with her chicken pot pie. robin laughs too loudly. he tries to point out other boys who harry might be able to befriend with irritating optimism. like harry is going away to summer camp. like he's going to enjoy himself. like he isn't at a bonafide detention center for mental cases.

 

harry stares listlessly into the distance. robin sighs, and anne closes her eyes tiredly.

 

(when _harry styles_ is finally called, he tells his parents he can settle himself without their help, and slings his duffle bag over his shoulder. they don't have time to respond before he's shuffling towards the door.)

 

harry doesn't look back.

 

-

 

"i'm sure you'll have an _amazing_ experience here. change begins today!"

 

a bright-faced bubbly staff member leads harry through the hallways. she has chestnut hair and pink cheeks. her constant stream of preassigned welcoming statements makes his head hurt.

 

harry thinks her name is eleanor.

 

by the time she stops at his room, she's breathless and giggling to herself. she promises harry she'll be seeing him soon, and reminds him that _it's never too late to be the best you!_

he sits on the edge of his new bed and stays there long after she's gone.

 

his room is more like a jail cell than anything else. the funding money must've been wasted on the obnoxious decor of the lobby and hallways, leaving no money for the sleeping quarters. the walls are white, the floors made from cement (with a pitiful yellow rug in the center to try and brighten the space) and the single window lets in weak sunlight. the dresser is made from bleached wood and the blankets on his bed are grey and woolly.

 

this is his home.

 

and it's depressing as fuck.

 

harry stares at the empty bed across from his and sighs. he's supposed to have a roommate. harry vaguely remembers eleanor rattling off information about his "bunk buddy" (as she called it) and the random selection of the pairing. he could get anything from a schizophrenic to a bipolar sociopath, and harry finds himself thinking about what mental case he'll have to room with. he just hopes whoever he is, he doesn't snore.

_as it turns out, his name is zayn._

he has dark, thick hair that falls over his honey-dipped eyes. there's a certain burning intelligence behind his gaze, a steady, powerful feeling that gives harry the sensation zayn is judging him. he's got carmel skin and slightly bruised knuckles. he looks moody.

 

they don't talk.

 

both of them unpack in silence. harry tries to figure out his new roommate with quick glances his direction, but zayn is unreadable. he acts like harry doesn't exist. still, as far as harry can tell, the only emotion he sees on zayn is the brief snort when he pulls out the uniform they're all required to wear--a loose grey shirt with baggy black pants. much like a prison jumpsuit.

 

 _fitting_ , harry thinks wryly as he pulls his own set on. _an outfit to match the decor._

 

he's about to say as such to zayn, but when harry turns around, the room is hauntingly empty.

 

he sighs and closes his eyes. his stomach rumbles.

 

-

 

 

dinner is a somber affair.

 

there are about fifteen round tables scattered around a chilly stone room. all of the boys look sallow and thin in the flickering gloom. no one really touches the food placed in front of them. zayn sits with harry--it's sort of an unspoken agreement---and doesn't say a single thing throughout the whole meal.

 

harry finds himself watching the other boys.

 

with some, he can tell straight away they're not mentally _there._ one kid, who looks to be about fourteen, twitches in his seat like he's being electrocuted. another murmurs nonstop, his eyes darting furiously side-to-side, his fingers dancing across the table. a blonde boy cries by himself somewhere in the back row.

 

still, there are plenty of others who look perfectly normal to harry. probably a lot like him. miserable, irritated, slightly bored. most are about his age too. if harry didn't know any better, if he didn't see the giant banner reading _welcome to the helping hands support group center for young men,_ he would guess this is a retreat center or something.

 

he shivers. he stirs his grey-looking soup absentmindedly, his eyes flicking around the room.

 

in front of him is the staff. they sit at a long table in the front. their loud, happy conversation is the only sound that fills up the rest of the hall. maybe they're hoping the rest of the boys catch on and follow suit, but no one gets the hint. it's pretty much dead quiet among the tables.

 

it's _really_ cheery _._ fantastic moral booster. _just_ what harry needed.

(eventuality, a woman with blonde hair and bright blue eyes stands up from the table and delivers the welcoming speech. she calls herself _lou teasdale._ unlike the rest of the staff, she seems much more diluted and soft-worded. there are no false pretenses of giggly happiness, and harry thinks that's good enough to make him like her.)

 

she's the first person who doesn't suck the life out of harry.

 

and _well._ he has to count his small victories.

 

-

 

"what did you do to end up here?"

 

the question startles harry. it's late at night; the moonlight crawls through the window and the midnight silence hangs heavy in the room. except zayn is not sleeping, and for the first time, he's talking to harry.

 

"um," harry says into the darkness. he can only see zayn's outline from this angle. "i dunno... they called it arson, i think?"

 

there's a pause.

 

"so you're like... a pyro?"

 

harry laughs humorlessly into the darkness.

 

"you sound like one of the psychiatrists. i'm not _anything._ i'm harry."

 

zayn lets out a gruff noise. "i like that answer. s'true. you're not a disorder's definition."

 

"yeah." harry hesitates and lets the silence crawl into the crevices of the conversation. "what about you?"

 

"why am i here?"

 

"yeah."

 

"i get angry," zayn says simply. harry can almost see him unconsciously stroking his bruised knuckles. "one time i took it too far. it was jail time or this bullshit, so here i am."

 

"oh," harry says. "right."

 

they don't speak again for the rest of the night.

 

[+]

 

(day two)

 

weak sunlight is spilling onto harry's pillow when a sharp rap on the door stirs him awake.

 

" _rise and shine, it's smiling time!"_ someone calls happily from the other side of the door. " _breakfast is in twenty minutes!"_

 

zayn mutters a curse and buries his head back under the pillow.

 

harry personally agrees with his sentiment.

 

-

 

it's seven thirty in the morning.

 

(and harry decides he's already sick of this place.)

 

he's picked at the bowl of oatmeal in front of him and pushed it away, ignoring the growling of his stomach. the mess hall looks even more bleak today, especially the faces inside of it. harry wonders how one place could be so unhappy.

 

"today you'll be getting your activity groups," lou clears her throat and stands up. "i'll read off a group leader, who will raise their hand, and a mediator. when your name is called, find your assigned position. all right, with simon and caroline, we have charlie wilson, matthew greves, levi collins..."

 

the list goes on and on until--

 

"... with patrick and niall, we have zayn malik, tom parker, louis tomlinson, nick grimshaw, james arthur, and harry styles."

 

harry looks up at zayn, who gives him a ghost of a smile.

 

the hall is filled with the scraping of chairs as everyone shuffles off to their assigned groups. harry and zayn find patrick pretty easily--he's got flaming red hair and stands about a head taller than everyone else. next to him is presumably niall. he doesn't look much older than harry himself.

 

they both give zayn and harry encouraging smiles, which neither of them return fully.

 

"welcome to group number 3," patrick says brightly, looking at his set of misfit boys. "i'm excited to get to know you all!"

 

radio silence answers him back.

 

group three has their own little room, which looks like it might've been a classroom before. there are eight chairs in a small circle with an eraser board sitting at patrick's feet. it smells like trainers and chalk in here, and harry doesn't appreciate the nauseous feeling it gives his stomach.

 

"we're going to start off with a little activity," patrick continues, undeterred by the stoic group in front of him. "you'll introduce yourself, give your age, a goal you want out of your month here, and something you'd like to do! i'll start."

 

he pulls up the board and begins scrawling across it.

 

"my name is patrick orwell, and i'm twenty-five." his bright blue eyes are fixed on the board as he writes _patty, 25._ "i want to make you all better people! as for an activity, i think it would be fun to have a film night."

 

he adds _help you_ and _fun night_ under the list, then gives them all a crooked smile.

 

"everyone understand? great. your peer mediator, niall, will go next."

 

niall takes the board and chuckles heartily.

 

"putting me on the spot, patty!" his own blue eyes are round and bright. "well, let's see. i'm niall, i'm eighteen, my goal is to have fun, and i'd quite like to watch some football."

 

there are a few _mhm's_ of agreement.

 

"wonderful! who's next?" patty closes his eyes and points to a burly-looking kid with a scowl on his face. "guess you're the lucky one! name?"

 

"tom parker," he mutters. his heavy-set eyes and thick arms are telltale signs to give this guy space. "my goal is to get this fucking over with. as for an activity--i dunno--maybe piss on the shitty food here."

 

there's a heavy pause.

 

"tom, that's not the way we operate," patrick says sternly. "that sort of behavior ended you here in the first place. in order to change, you have to put in effort. i want you to apologize."

 

"sorry."

 

it's barely audible and dripping insincerity.

 

"all right," patrick's voice is loud and strained, as if trying to regain the momentum. he takes a deep breath. "you. how about you go next?"

 

it takes harry a moment to realize patrick is pointing at him.

 

"oh," harry says blankly. he feels his ears burn. "um, well. i'm harry. harry styles, i mean. i'm seventeen."

 

he pauses and looks around. patrick is smiling encouragingly. tom is staring straight ahead. zayn is playing with the hem of his shirt. another boy, one with voltaic blue eyes and sharp cheekbones, is watching him with a slight interest written on his handsome face.

 

harry takes a deep breath.

 

"uh, as for goals," he says slowly. "it would be nice if i came out of here with, like, a better attitude, i guess? and as an activity... playing music would be cool."

 

patrick gives him two small claps, enthusiasm bright on his face.

 

 "excellent! niall could get behind the music part!" patrick smiles, and niall nods vigorously. "well done, harry! who will go next..."

 

harry exhales and looks up again, only to see the same pair of voltaic blue eyes on him.

 

it's a gaze that doesn't leave harry's face as the owner raises his hand.

 

"a volunteer!" patrick is nearly beside himself with happiness. "oh, go on!"

 

"hey," the new kid smiles coolly, tearing his eyes from harry. "my name is louis tomlinson. m' nineteen. my goal is to not go crazy in this madhouse, but according to the doctors, i already have."

 

he shoots them all another silvery smile.

 

"and as for activities," louis continues smoothly, "well, i'd quite like to go home, actually."

 

that earns a small round of laughter, even from patrick.

 

"you've always been a quippy one, louis," he wags his finger at him. "welcome back, nonetheless."

 

he chuckles and louis gives a little _cheers_ before it's nick's turn.

 

except harry is not paying attention.

 

his gaze is fixed on the boy with flames in his eyes and candlelight in his voice. harry has always loved fire, always loved the burn and the beauty, but never thought a person could posses the same sort of qualities. louis has the same furious splendor of a star, all hidden behind his blazing eyes and messy brown hair.

 

and harry is completely fascinated.

 

-

 

"you should talk to him."

 

zayn always manages to surprise harry with the abruptness of his comments. they're sitting in their rooms for rest time, harry gazing at the ceiling and zayn sketching in his book.

 

"talk to who?" harry says slowly. it's a stupid question.

 

"he's cool." zayn doesn't lift his eyes from his sketchbook. "louis is one of the best people i know. i think he's taken an interest. so talk to him."

 

"you're being ridiculous," harry waves him off and shifts in his bed a little. zayn finally lifts his gaze and fixes him with his intense honey eyes.

 

"i saw the way louis looked at you," zayn says simply. "tell me, fire boy, did it burn?"

 

harry blinks a few times. he doesn't respond. zayn's face remains unreadable.

 

"his room is two doors down from ours. he likes to climb to the rooftop at night."

 

zayn picks up his sketchbook and they don't talk about the subject again.

 

-

 

it's ridiculous, really, why harry is standing here.

 

the stairs to the fire escape are rusty. cool fall air ruffles his hair, blowing curls across his face. harry shivers in the darkness and blinks a few times.

 

he feels quite stupid.

 

except harry has always been an obsessive sort, always had a type of curiosity that burned at him. harry looks for beauty in everything, and when he does find it--well, it's hard to shake it off. he wasn't expecting to find beauty in a place like this, but life does have strange ways of surprising him.

 

the memory of louis' gaze is scorched into his brain.

 

 _harry wants to know more._ that's the simple reason why he's here, why he followed a bit of vague information given by a practical stranger. harry probably is reckless and unrestrained in his ways, but there are certain things he can't ignore. like voltaic blue eyes. like silvery smiles.

 

he climbs the stairs steadily and doesn't look back.

 

-

 

the rooftop is nice at night.

 

the air is fresh and clean and cool. it's refreshing, especially after a long day confined in group sessions. harry can even see the stars.

 

he can see louis too. but really, between the stars and louis, what's the difference?

 

louis doesn't even startle when harry shuffles over next to him.

 

he's sitting in his plaid pyjama bottoms, his hair tousled sleepily and an unlit cigarette between his long, slender fingers. he looks tired. maybe a little weary. his eyes are fixed on the city spanning in the distance, their lights twinkling, teasing.it looks so close, but harry knows it's a cruel illusion. they're far away from reality. 

 

"s'pretty, isn't it?" louis murmurs, turning towards harry. he pats the ground next to him and harry sits down, unsure.

 

"yeah," he says softly. "yeah, it is."

 

( _but not nearly as pretty as louis.)_

"odd time of night to be awake." louis slips the cigarette between his lips. "i thought only the insomniacs roamed at three in the morning. or maybe the lunatics."

 

"so what are you trying to say?" harry laughs softly. "that i'm mad?"

 

"maybe."

 

there's a pause.

 

"but aren't we all?"

 

louis gives him a ghost of a smile.

 

"in this place, it's hard not to be," he says, his eyes never leaving harry's, "surrounded by all this bullshit, treated like we're insane. sometimes you begin to believe it." 

 

he pulls out a lighter and harry's breath hitches immediately. when he came here, they screened him for any sort of thing that could spark a flame. all his matches were confiscated on the spot. he can't imagine how louis got away with a lighter _and_ cigarettes.

 

his stares longingly at the lighter. louis doesn't miss the way he shifts a bit.

 

"mhm," louis' eyes are shining as he tosses the lighter in the air and catches it. "you know, harry, for being such an interesting person, you're not too hard to figure out."

 

he strikes the lighter. with a soft _whoosh,_ a flame is born from nothingness. it flickers in louis' eyes and illuminates his grin in the darkness. harry lets out an involuntary sigh. louis laughs.

 

"let me guess," he drawls, lighting the cigarette. "you like fire?"

 

harry's lack of response is answer enough.

 

"can't say it's weird," louis shrugs. "i steal things. lots of things. things i don't need. not for any particular reason, really. i just like it."

 

"s'not odd," harry says before he can help himself. "it doesn't have to make sense, i mean. i don't set fires because i like to destroy properly. the cops don't seem to understand that though."

 

louis laughs again and folds his knees to his chest. he takes a deep drag off the cigarette and lets the smoke spiral into the night sky, his eyes fixed on its ascent. his eyelash curl upwards towards his brow bone.

 

harry feels it flickering in his veins. that same thrill, the same excitement, like setting a fire. except now _he's_ the one being burned by a flame much too bright to be contained in a prison like this. without oxygen, flames die. harry can't stand the idea of louis losing the fiery brilliance in his bright blue eyes.

 

(harry sets things ablaze. louis sets harry ablaze.)

 

"we're more alike than we'd like to admit, you and me," louis says after a long while, turning towards him again. his gaze is steady, full of heat. "misunderstood, yeah? but i could understand you. i think i want to understand you."

 

"oh?" harry says softly. "well, i don't even understand myself. you wouldn't get too far."

 

"i can help you with that."

 

louis' response is quick and full of weight. his eyes are fixed on harry like he's the only thing to exist. the cigarette burns in his fingertips as he brings it towards his lips again, his gaze never fleeting. it takes his motion for harry to realize how close they are--practically an arm's length away. he also realizes, with some embarrassment, how quickly his heart is beating.

 

"louis--" he starts, but louis clearly doesn't want to listen.

 

because now he's closing the space between them. now he's cupping harry's face with his hands, the cigarette dangerously close to harry's cheek. now harry is tasting louis' nicotine lips, lips like fire, lips that burn him to the bone. now he's feeling his mind spark like a match and erupt into flames as the sensation consumes his thoughts and smolders in his lungs.

 

louis pulls away before harry can even thinkabout what's happening.

 

louis is satisfied for a few seconds, puffing on his cigarette like he's just brushed harry's hair off his forehead. his lips are a little more pink. his eyes shine a little brighter.

 

little details that snap harry awake again.

 

"did you just... _kiss me?"_ harry says in disbelief.

 

louis grins slyly and gets to his feet. he crushes the cigarette under his feet and shrugs unapologetically.

 

"yeah, maybe i did. see you around, fire boy."

 

harry still feels the burn on his lips long after louis leaves.

 

[+]

 

(day three)

 

"today is a big, big day!" patrick's eyes are as vibrant as his hair. "personally it's my favorite. can anyone guess why?"

 

it's eight in the morning. even if anyone has the slightest interest in group sessions, they're too tired to care.

 

harry himself lets out an involuntary yawn.

 

" _enthusiasm, boys!"_ patrick says sharply. "today is share-your-story day. let us get to know you. when we know you, we can do our jobs better. remember, we are your friends!"

 

niall, who is sitting next to patrick, picks at his nails.

 

"you know who is dying to share? nick is dying to share. mr. grimshaw, you have the floor."

 

patrick leans back in satisfaction and folds his hands across his knees. if looks could kill, the one nick gives him would've sent him to the grave three times over.

 

harry glances up. he finds louis' gaze already on him. he smiles a little and looks at nick instead.

 

"i don't want to share," nick finally says, "and frankly, mate, you can't make me."

 

"poor attitude, mr. grimshaw," niall chimes in. "c'mon. i know none of you want to be here. fine, i don't blame you for that. but _guess where you're sitting?_ with us. so pick your balls off the floor and get it over with."

 

 

"well..." patrick says, slightly thrown off. "that was... erm..."

 

"effective," louis says loudly. "i'll go first."

 

there's an uncertain pause.

 

"mr. tomlinson!" patrick claps enthuasically, still looking a bit overwhelmed. "i love it! please, go ahead!"

 

louis, who is sitting directly across from harry, never lets his eyes leave harry's face.

 

"i've always been a bit of a shifty kid. my parents knew it. my teachers couldn't stand it. my classmates always looked at me funny. but it didn't get really bad until i turned eleven and discovered my newest hobby--stealing things."

 

louis takes a breath.

 

"they call it kleptomania. _whatever._ a big fancy word doesn't describe what it's like to go into a store and feel the itch in your fingertips, the itch that can't be ignored. it doesn't describe the weird pleasure that flows through your bloodstream when you filch something off one of your mates. it doesn't describe the way it lands you in dumps like this, with people who think you're mentally sick. what i am, _who i am,_ isn't a disease. that doesn't clean my shoplifting record though."

 

he lets out a short, bitter laugh.

 

"and frankly, patrick, sitting here in these stupid fucking _circles_ does nothing for me," he says offhandedly. "my fingers still itch, my heart still races, my mind still blanks out, but here... i think there are other reasons."

 

louis' eyes burn into harry's long after his last words hang in the air.

 

there's another weighty pause.

 

"all right then," patrick clears his throat. "thank you for the er... feedback. and for sharing, of course. anyone else?"

 

to everyone's surprise, particularly, harry's, zayn raises his hand.

 

zayn has talked a total of two times since he got here--the mandatory introduction and permission to go take a piss. so of course it's odd.

 

"zayn!" patrick squeals. _jesus._ he's overly-excitable. "go on!"

 

he doesn't speak for a while.

 

"i agree with louis," zayn finally mumbles. "being here does shit for anyone. my mum says i'm going to go into a rage and really hurt someone and end up in jail. she's right. this is just an excuse, a bandaid, plaster for a wound that goes much deeper than skin level. you can't fix how i am. no one can. god knows they've tried."

 

"it isn't about fixing you," patrick says gently. "it's about healing."

 

"that's bullshit," zayn snorts, waving him away. "that's hollywood film _bullshit._ this is the real world, patrick. there is no fucking _healing._ you live or you die. _simple as.'"_

"what makes you think that?"

 

this time it's niall who speaks. he sits forward, his eyebrows furrowed and a small frown on his face.

 

"why?" zayn says darkly. "i _dunno._ maybe because i saw my father killed in front of me. saw my mum lose her house, her money, her car. saw my cousin overdose on street drugs he couldn't help himself from. for them, for my family, there was no fucking _healing!_ they didn't live. they let the world fuck them over. and i swear to god i won't let the same thing happen to me."

 

zayn's chest is rising and falling rapidly. his fists are balled at his sides and his knuckles are white.

 

"thank you, zayn," patrick is much more subdued now. "i think we'll take a five minute break and all come back. how about that?"

 

zayn slips off and they don't see him for the rest of the day.

 

-

 

"i didn't know his life was that rough."

 

it's late at night. harry is laying side-by-side with louis on the cool concrete of the flat rooftop. this time, they brought blankets and pillows and even some crisps louis managed to nick. harry can safely say it's the first time he's been able to really breathe all day.

 

"zayn's? yeah," louis sighs. "he's a troubled kid. but growing up like him, it's hard not to be."

 

(they don't talk about zayn again.)

 

-

 

the stars twinkle in the distance and harry is sleepy.

 

he's curled under his blanket, the cold concrete seeping heat from his bones. louis is next to him, chattering away at a million miles a minute about whatever fanciful thoughts fill his head. harry likes to hear him talk. he likes to just listen. he likes the feeling of not being alone.

 

louis has mannerisms about him. the way he flicks his hair impatiently from his eyes. the way he lets the cigarette roll between his fingers long before lighting it. the way his hands move, slender and quick in the moonlight. the way he _burns,_ so alive, so real, so dangerous. it's in his eyes, in his words, in the touches he sometimes reserves for harry.

 

it's all offhanded, but louis has a tendency to gravitate towards harry. sometimes when he's heated and the fire burns bright in his aura, he'll touch harry's shoulder, chest, arm, _anything_ to make sure he's listening. when he's more subdued, more sleepy and soft like candlelight, he'll touch harry's face, his hair, his lips. harry likes it. makes him feel important.

 

and louis likes him.

 

louis tells him he likes his curls and bright green eyes. he tells him he likes the way harry is different. he likes the mystery about harry, the quiet obscurity of his words. he likes the way harry's eyelashes dust his pink satin cheeks. he likes the way harry's lips are full, soft, and glistening in the moonlight. he likes the way harry stumbles over his too-large feet. he likes the way harry curls close to him, the way his lanky body fits next to louis'. he likes the way harry compliments him, the moon to his sun, the silver to his gold.

 

harry is beautiful like the fire he loves so much and louis wants to tell him, but.

 

the words always fizzle out before they can reach his lips.

 

[+]

 

(day seven)

 

life at the institution has begun to feel disturbingly normal.

 

it's only been a week, yet harry feels himself slipping into the daily routine. he doesn't flinch when the staff members rap their knuckles against the door at ungodly hours. he doesn't push away the bland food. he doesn't act so sullen during group sessions, no matter what his mood. he swallows his dislike for the people in this place, and even manages a smile every once in a while.

 

even with zayn, they have little routines. harry gets the bathroom first in the mornings because he's an early riser, but zayn gets late-night privileges. they talk a bit before bed, mostly about louis or about the group sessions. they keep the light on for an hour so zayn can draw and harry can write in his journal, and then they go to bed. as for chores--well, harry's always been the tidy sort, so he does all of the work, and zayn slides harry his dessert under the table three times a week in return.

 

it's silly and it's simple, but it's starting to feel a bit like home.

 

harry can't say he's unhappy here, either. in fact, after the initial shock wears off and he gets used to the forced upbeat aura of this place, he starts to kind of _like_ it. patrick isn't too bad of a guy. niall is great. group sessions aren't unbearable. his parents aren't around to disdain everything he does. the people here, they're more like him than the people back where he came from, and harry begins to find comfort in that fact. he isn't alone.

 

and well...

 

if there _is_ a certain blue-eyed boy in the mix, no one has to know.

 

-

 

"niall and i have been thinking," patrick claps excitedly, "that you all have been _so_ receptive in the past week it's high time for a reward!"

 

it's six-thirty at night. they're all sleepy from dinner, and not particularly sure how to feel about patrick's definition of a _reward._

 

"well, come on boys!" patrick cries. "act a little enthused! we're _complimenting_ you! lou says this group has made the most progress. i know i couldn't be more proud. so i want to reward you!"

 

again, silence is met with patrick's words. tough crowd.

 

he throws up his hands in exasperation and niall takes over.

 

"right, well, you have the choice of a film night down in the screening room or three hour group session," he says bluntly. "your choice."

 

now there are some murmurings of " _a film sounds nice"_ and " _could be okay."_

 

niall is much better at getting the point across in situations like these.

 

"wonderful!" patrick again assumes his exhausting excitement. harry wonders how he could genuinely enjoy his job so much. "it'll be like a sleepover! we'll set up mats in the screening room and bring snacks and make it fun! how about it?"

 

and _well._ there could be worse things in the world.

 

-

 

when it's announced that they'll be watching _avengers,_ harry swears zayn's face lights up like christmas.

 

he's certainly content.

 

they're all spread out in a carpeted room underneath the main floors of the institution with crisps and sodas being passed around. niall sneaks them all a load of sweets when patrick isn't looking. zayn has a trace of a dreamy smile on his face as the opening credits begin to roll, and harry laughs quietly to himself. in his world of villains, there probably aren't enough heroes.

 

that's the thought on harry's mind when he feels a tap on his shoulder.

 

he jumps, nearly upsetting his soda. harry doesn't have to turn around to know who it is.

 

he does anyway, and is met with louis' eyes gleaming in the darkness.

 

"hey fire boy," he whispers, crouching close to harry's ear. zayn doesn't even notice. "ready for a bit of an adventure?"

 

harry sits ups.

 

"adventure where?"

 

"out of here, obviously," louis' gaze is full of eager excitement. "i know a back way out."

 

there's a pause. harry looks around and spots patrick, lounging towards the front, completely oblivious. niall is half-asleep already, head drooping against his chest. it certainly wouldn't be hard to sneak away without being caught.

 

"louis..." harry sighs, closing his eyes.

 

"c'mon, harry!" louis whispers. he extends his hand. "do you trust me?"

 

harry stares at the calloused palms and long, slender fingers. his breath catches.

 

he looks up into louis' eyes with hesitation on his lips.

 

"i... i trust you."

 

louis' smile is big enough to light up the whole room.

 

"then let's go, harry. let's go live a little."

-

 

so they do it.

 

they sneak away and it's _exhilarating--_ harry feels the wind whipping through his hair, the cool autumn air rushing in and out of his lungs. the dying light reminds harry of amber flame, of a hearth about to burn out and he is laughing the whole way as louis tugs him along, hand-in-hand, as dusk turns to darkness.

 

they slip into the shadows.

 

harry's cheeks are pink and his eyes are shining and his words come too fast from his lips. he looks so beautiful like this, when the excitement makes his blood pump furiously through his veins and ignites the flames in his heart. he is extraordinary, and louis--

 

louis wants to kiss him.

 

they stumble into a tall grass field, the hollowed stalks waving lazily in the breeze. sounds of the night surround them like a net. purple dusk streaks across the sky like a bleeding palette. the scent of earth is ripe around them.

 

harry is laughing as he trips and falls to the ground, louis falling with him.

 

louis lands on top of harry, his hands planted firmly on each side of harry's head so he doesn't collapse on him. they're both breathless, their chests rising and falling rapidly, the giddy smiles still burning at their cheeks. _they did it._ the exhilaration is heavy in the air, the electricity, the excitement.

 

louis wants to kiss harry.

 

but harry is laughing again and the moment passes. a bright, happy sound escapes his lips and his eyes gleam in the quickly-fading daylight. he looks up at louis as if he's the very sun itself.

 

"i can't believe we did that," he giggles, the words breathless. "you're as mad as they say you are, louis tomlinson."

 

"yeah?" louis has a devilish look on his face as he brushes harry's curls off forehead. "well, i'm not more mad than you, harry styles."

 

"i am _not_ mad!"

 

"sorry to say," louis grins. "but you _did_ follow me here, so..."

 

"i'm mad by association?" harry raises an eyebrow. louis notices how glassy harry's gaze is.

 

"sounds about right." there's a gleam in louis' eye as he leans down close to harry's neck, his breath ghosting his skin. he pauses, then whispers. "hey, fire boy. catch me if you can."

and then he's pushing off harry and darting into the tall grass. the sound of brittle stalks breaking beneath his trainers follows him into the night. harry can hear his laughter floating into the dusk as he tears after louis.

 

"come on, harry!" louis yells somewhere in the distance. "i thought those long legs of yours would make you faster!"

 

harry's lungs ache and his breaths come short and hard. his heart is on fire as it pumps loudly in his chest. all the oxygen harry is desperately seeking is gone, burned away by the flames in his veins. harry feels as if he's ablaze too.

 

his feet pound the hard ground and he pumps his arms. the burn in his muscles can't be ignored either. harry likes the pain though, he likes being so close to the scorch in his bones. harry is _alive_. the blistering heat flooding through his body reminds him so.

 

he isn't even paying attention as he bursts into a clearing.

 

harry doesn't see louis in time. he crashes right into him, sending them both sprawling into the dust. louis lets out a loud yelp as he hits the ground hard.

 

"i... i'm sorry," harry pants, untangling their limbs. his eyes are wide. "i didn't even see you--"

 

"s'okay," louis says croakily, sitting up. his hair is sticking up at odd ends and his face is streaked with dirt. his lip is bleeding a bit. he massages his ribs and winces. "jesus, harry, i reckon you're out to kill me."

 

(louis doesn't mention that the overwhelming urge to kiss harry is killing him more than the ache in his side.)

 

"i'm sorry!" harry blinks rapidly. "are you all right?"

 

his face is so earnest in the moonlight. the light sheen of sweat on his cheeks, on his forehead, on the contours of his collarbones, makes louis' fingers itch in the same way he feels when he steals something. the rush, the thrill, the excitement, it's all the same, whether he's nicking a pen off the teacher's desk or just next to harry. he looks simply delicious like this, flushed skin and heavy breaths and red lips, and louis wants to kiss him so _goddamn_ badly, but.

 

 _he doesn't_.

 

"'m fine," he laughs weakly. he collapses back onto the hard earth. "c'mere, harry, i have one last surprise for you."

 

harry crawls obediently into louis' waiting arms and curls his hands underneath louis' body, like he always does. his head fits nicely in the junction between louis' neck and shoulder. louis can feel the cool perspiration on harry's skin against his own burning skin. his heart still thuds heavily against his chest.

 

louis tangles one of his hands in harry's hair and sighs in contentment.

 

he doesn't speak for a long time, and there is no real need to. harry is perfectly content to lay against louis, his doe-like eyes fluttering tiredly. louis likes the quiet too. he likes the way he can hear harry's breathing and feel his heart against his own and watch the way his chest rises and falls. he likes studying harry in detail, likes looking at the slope of his nose, the arch of his eyebrows, the bow of his lips. harry is artwork in the truest sense, delicate and ornate.

 

louis wants to kiss harry, _god he wants to kiss harry,_ but he settles for speaking instead.

 

"close your eyes, fire boy," louis mumbles against his temple. "and don't peek."

 

he watches as harry's long eyelashes fawn against his cheeks.

 

"now," he whispers, his breath ghosting harry's skin. he watches in amazement as goosebumps rise on harry's arms. louis' effect on him is so palpable, so real. "i brought you here tonight because there's something i wanna show you. open your eyes."

 

harry does, and his eyes are met with a million shining stars, luminescent in the sky.  they're like glitter thrown onto black paper, and harry is fascinated by the wonder above him. louis is fascinated with the wonder beside him. 

 

"stars are like... i dunno... big balls of fire," louis continues under his breath. "figured you'd like that."

 

harry blinks and turns to him and louis swears a few fell into his eyes.

 

"yeah, louis, i really do like it," he says softly. he turns his gaze back towards the sky and sighs dreamily. "imagine what it would be like. up in space, i mean. you would feel pretty insignificant, next to all those stars. i would love it there."

 

"sounds a bit lonely for my taste," louis says with a wry grin. "but you'd fit in well. all the beautiful things hang in the sky, yeah? the stars, the sun, the moon--and you."

 

harry smiles distantly and _jesus,_ louis wants to kiss him.

 

"fire is so beautiful," harry says after a pause. his voice is hazy and faraway. "there's a power to it, you know? gentle, but below the glowing surface. fire is vivid and fire demands to be noticed, because why else would it burn? fire is dangerous and fire is comfort."

 

harry pauses.

 

"you're a lot like a flame, louis," he says softly. "the blue of your eyes is the same blue in the heart of a fire. the flickering red and oranges of your bright personality match the colors of a flame. you spark the same way, louis. your words burn, your lips burn, your touches burn. it's easy to see why someone like me would be so hopelessly fascinated with someone like you. i've always been addicted to fire, to the burn and to the warmth."

 

harry turns towards louis again, looking silvery in the moonlight and louis--

 

louis wants to kiss him.

 

_and this time he does._

oh, louis kisses harry, kisses him until he burns like the stars in the sky.

[+]

 

(day eight)

 

"you look dead tired," zayn raises an eyebrow, spooning some oatmeal into his mouth. "noticed you skipped out on film night. anything you'd like to say?"

 

"felt sick," harry shrugs. "so i went to the room."

 

zayn leans forward, his eyes glittering. there's a small trace of a smile on his face as he reaches  and plucks a piece of grass from harry's hair.

 

"you're such a shit liar, harry," he smirks, holding it up the evidence for harry to see.  "if louis hadn't told me everything about twenty minutes ago, i still could've guessed. nice try though."

 

he takes his practically untouched bowl of oatmeal to the rubbish bin, leaving harry to sit alone at the table with a flaming face.

 

louis is grinning at him from across the room.

 

-

 

private sessions start early that afternoon.

 

harry is surprised when a kind-faced man with short-cropped hair taps his shoulder and introduces himself as liam. he says he's harry's personal therapist, guidance counselor, friend, _whatever._ he's still smiling when harry offers him no words in return.

 

liam doesn't stop smiling, even when he escorts harry to his office.

 

he assures harry that he's in no trouble, that this is part of the process. their session will be the easiest thing he's had to do since arriving, liam says kindly. harry isn't so sure how he feels about that statement when liam is closing the office door, leaving them alone.

 

louis isn't here. zayn isn't here. niall isn't here. even patrick's absence feels odd.

 

harry shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

 

liam does try to make it casual. he talks to harry as if they're long-lost friends, asking questions like _how has life been lately?_ and _how is school? your parents? any love interests?_ harry answers his inquires with bland, generic answers. he avoids liam's eyes and gazes at the window too often.

 

"so, harry," liam sighs after a while of small talk, folding his hands together. "we do, of course, have to discuss the reasons you're here. i would prefer if you told me yourself as opposed to me reading details of your case. be open. i won't judge you."

 

harry presses his lips together. he says nothing.

 

liam sighs again and scrubs his hand down his face. he opens the folder on his desk and pulls out the first paper.

 

"your choice, harry," he slips on his glasses. "all right, it says here that you have a diagnosed case of--hmm-- _pyromania._ multiple charges in your name are listed here..."

 

the words bounce around harry's mind, making his blood run cold. he feels his heart stutter. _pyromanic._ he remembers the woman in the navy blue blazer smiling at him behind her spectacles, explaining to harry's parents that their son, after psychological evaluation, wasn't normal. she said his problems were trigged by a trauma in the past, a lack of control that translated into this. he remembers how his father's face tightened and his mum blinked rapidly.

_he can still feel them sometimes._ the fists on his body, the hands around his neck. in the darkness, he strokes his skin and remembers the pain that used to live there.

 

"okay!" harry says loudly. he doesn't realize how hard he's gripping the seat until now. "i'll talk, all right? just stop reading that shit. please."

 

harry shudders.

 

"any particular reason why it bothers you?" liam asks a little too innocently.

 

it takes a few deep breaths before harry composes himself to talk.

 

"they make me remember things," harry whispers miserably. "things i wish i could burn away."

 

"what kind of things, harry?" liam is much more gentle now. "i'm ready whenever you are."

 

-

 

harry is pale and shaking by time he leaves liam's office.

 

he skips lunch because he feels sick. instead, he wanders through the halls of the institute, running his hands along the walls until he finds the piano room. patrick once said something about a piano. harry doesn't forget certain things.

 

the room is dusty and small.

 

he walks through the clutter on the floor and sits at the bench behind the piano. it must have been fine in its day. but here, in this place, it reeks of destitution and sadness, just like the people who fill its halls. harry runs a finger across the piano's dusty face to reveal the gleaming surface below. 

 

his fingers eventually drop towards the ivory keys. he marvels at the way his hands remember the piano, remember the sounds they used to produce in the long evening hours. the melodic music fills the tiny room like air in a balloon and harry closes his eyes, letting it fill him up too.

 

of course, he hits a few sour notes and sometimes his fingers stutter over keys they aren't familiar with, but the music is lovelier than harry remembered. it reminds him of the sweet days of his childhood, memories of honeysuckle in a garden of bliss. harry was so happy there. so happy in his young years, where life still hid its ugly face behind twisting ivory and rose blooms. the music takes him back to that place, even if it is brief, even if it's secluded in a tiny storage room hidden in an institution for mental cases.

 

harry doesn't even hear louis' footsteps.

 

he doesn't hear him creep up behind him. he doesn't hear louis' soft breathing or his quiet sighs. he doesn't even know louis is there until two warm hands cup his face from behind, coaxing him out of his trance.

 

harry hits a flat note and the room goes silent.

 

"that was beautiful, fire boy," louis whispers. he tilts harry's face back and strokes harry's cheeks with a broad sweep of his thumb, erasing tears harry didn't even realize had fallen. "i can make it better, you know. make it not hurt so badly."

 

he leans down and harry smells the faint scent of his cigarettes intermingled with his evergreen body wash. his hair tickles harry's forehead. his lips hover near harry's own.

 

"you're crying, fire boy," louis murmurs. "you shouldn't cry. salty tears don't coexist well with brilliant flames, you know."

 

louis' voice is soft. it fills harry with warmth, with longing, with a sensation that makes his toes tingle. louis has an effect on harry that no one else does. he makes harry feel ablaze. he makes harry feel like the flames he loves so much. louis makes him feel alive.

 

harry needs that. he needs louis.

 

"kiss me," harry breathes, closing his eyes. "just... louis, please. just kiss me."

 

and louis does.

 

he kisses him with tender hands and nicotine lips. he kisses him fiery fervor, with a glowing brilliance that takes harry's breath away. louis kisses him until the thoughts in his head burn away into ashes, ashes that are scattered into the wind. louis kisses him until harry twists with the writhing sensation of it, until he's begging for oxygen, until he's whimpering quietly.

 

feverish kissing turns into the need for more. soon harry's hands are wrapping around louis' neck, pulling him on top his body, tangling their limbs together. harry is pressed against the piano, and a sharp note echoes in the silence.

 

harry wants to feel this sensation in full potency. he wants it to engulf him, to swallow him whole, to burn him down. he doesn't let louis talk when he tries to pull back with a trace of worry on his face. he kisses louis until the words dissolve in his mouth, and all the while harry wonders if this is what it feels like to burn like the sun.

 

lips on lips, hands on skin, bodies pressed together. the moments stretch on. trousers are tossed in a heap on the floor and shirts soon follow suit. smoke on smoke, fire on fire, ashes to ashes.

 

_we all burn down._

 

  

-

 

(that night, harry sneaks to louis' room and they lose themselves under the covers with fire in their bones and love on their lips.)

 

 

[+]

 

(day ten)

 

after another grueling private session with liam, harry gets a surprise.

 

a letter. from his parents.

 

it isn't the type of surprise he was hoping for, but he still accepts the letter from patrick with a muttered _thank you._ later, he unfolds it in the privacy of his room, his hands shaking. he reads over the carefully-printed words written in his mum's handwriting. empty words, insubstantial words, hollow words.

 

_hope you're well, harry. hope you're learning a lot. hope you're getting better._

there is no emotion behind the paragraphs. it feels forced, like his parents wrote something prepared from a guidebook. the whole mood is very distant, very cool, very contrived, but that isn't what steals harry's breath away.

 

the last line in the letter feels like a blow to the stomach.

 

_when you're discharged, you'll have reached your eighteenth birthday. it would be best if we parted ways at that time, harry. you're an adult, and we can't keep babysitting you._

harry sees right through the cleverly-written words. his parents are pushing him away, pushing away their shameful bloodline with a shameful secret. how embarrassing it must be for them to explain to the police that their son isn't mentally well! how embarrassing it must be for them when the other successful people in their office ask about their children, and they have to make something up to hide harry's shortcomings! how embarrassing it must be having a _freak_ for a son!

 

harry tears up the letter and hides under the duvet until patrick finally knocks on his door.

 

-     

 

"promise me something."

 

harry's voice is steady in the darkness. louis is laying next to him, one hand behind his head, and another wrapped around his cigarette. louis takes a deep drag, his eyes fixed on the ceiling.

 

"mhm?"

 

"promise me," harry says slowly, "that when this is over, we'll run away together."

 

louis laughs from beside him and sits up. in this darkness, harry can't see his eyes, but he guesses they're filled with mirth.

 

"you truly are crazy," louis shakes his head. "we don't have anything, harry. here, it's different. here, we can sneak out and come back before anyone notices. but in the real world, it's much more complicated."

 

"i'm being serious," harry whispers. "i have nothing, louis. nowhere to go."

 

louis pauses. the smile fades from his face as he lays back down. the cigarette rests between his lips for a long time.

 

"we'll see, fire boy," louis says finally, his voice tired. "promises are a lot to make in the dark."

 

[+]

 

(day fourteen)

 

_dear mum and dad:_

_thanks for the letter. felt really sincere, especially the part where you kindly asked me to leave home._

_don't bother picking me up when i'm discharged. i'm getting out of here._

-    _harry_

[+]

 

(day twenty-four)

 

louis continues to consume his mind.

 

as the time stretches on, harry's thoughts begin to turn to _louislouislouis._ when he's with him, harry wants to feel his burn, taste his lips, feel his body tremor. when harry is away from him, he craves louis endlessly, craves his presence and his fiery eyes and heated words and bright passion. louis is like a poison in the way he crawls through harry's veins and leaves nothing behind him.

 

except poison kills, and louis--louis makes harry feel alive.

 

he's the first one who touches harry intimately and doesn't make harry's skin crawl. it's so new, so fresh, so _foreign_ to harry--the idea that hands against him don't necessarily mean pain anymore. not like the old days. not like the man who used to hurt him. louis burns those memories away with his lips, his hands, his words--anything to get harry to spark in the darkness.

 

harry didn't believe he'd ever ignite again. he thought he'd sizzled out for good, his flame starved for oxygen and flickering low. but louis sets him ablaze, sets his mind on fire and kindles the flames in his veins.

 

harry has grown to know pain, to appreciate it on a twisted level. but louis' pain, louis' burn, is the type of sensation harry thinks he could love.

 

smoke on smoke, fire on fire, ashes to ashes.

 

_we all burn down._

[+]

 

 

(day twenty-five)

 

patrick is delighted (as usual) when he announces they've officially made it to the open weekend.

 

and (as usual) there is the general lack of enthusiasm.

 

and (as usual) niall has to cut in and reassert the situation.

 

"for god's sake!" niall throws his hands up. "that means you all get a weekend out! _out of here!"_

nowthere are happy murmurings breaking out among the group. a free weekend? it feels like a lifetime since they saw the outside world.

 

harry looks up. louis' eyes are already on him.

 

louis smiles.

 

[+]

 

(day twenty-six)

 

so this is what it's like to emerge from prison.

 

maybe harry is being melodramatic, but it feels pretty fucking _monumental_ when he takes his first steps out of the institution. the sun is bright and the air is crisp. he is dressed in his tattered secondary school jumper and a pair of ripped jeans, which isn't much, but it's the first time he's been out of his terrible uniform in nearly three weeks, so.

 

small victories.

 

(except it feels a bit strange to have a heavy ankle bracelet weighing on harry's leg, a true reminder of how very _trapped_ they still are.)

 

but louis is next to harry, and he looks glorious with the sun on his skin and the wind in his hair, and harry can't really think about anything else.

 

"well, looks like it's just you and me, fire boy," louis fishes his keys out of his pocket, a wicked smile on his "let's get out of this shithole, for christ's sake."

 

harry smiles. louis' eyes are bright.

 

_they drive._

 

it doesn't quite have the allure of running away, but harry still feels marvelous as he watches the scenery fly by. he's with louis. he's with louis, and that makes the world seem a tiny bit more beautiful with each passing moment.

 

louis talks to him non-stop.

 

it's almost nervous talking, as if he's scared to stop. scared of the silence that'll follow. it's much different to be out in the real world with each other, and clearly it's unsettling louis. in the real world, ugly words can't be swallowed with kisses on the rooftop. in the real world, there isn't a place for harry and louis to hide who they are. there is no dark here, no group sessions, no smiling staff members to treat them as if they are incapable. here, they are free. but that freedom comes at a cost.

 

harry puts his hand on louis' and louis jerks.

 

"wha--sorry, sorry," he mumbles, his ears turning red. "listen, i was thinking that we could... uh... swing by an in-and-out? get some snacks or something? since i don't have anywhere to stay, i rented us a shitty motel room and figured we could crash there..."

 

 louis trails off awkwardly.

 

"sounds perfect," harry leans over and presses a kiss to louis' temple. "really, it does."

 

louis' ears are still red long after the conversation dies out.

 

-

 

the clerk behind the desk raises an eyebrow at the load of stuff in louis' arms.

 

crips. sweets. soda. beef jerky. alcohol. cigarettes. lots of lighters. more alcohol.

 

it's an odd assortment.

 

"your total comes to £44," she says slowly, scooping the stuff into bags. she still looks extremely dubious. "is there anything else i can get you?"

 

"nope," louis says cheerily as he pulls out the banknotes from his tattered wallet. "except maybe another pack of those cigarettes? yeah, toss those in as well. have to stash up, you see."

 

he winks at her. she stares. harry giggles silently beside him.

 

-

 

"you're absolutely ridiculous, louis," harry slurps his soda on the bonnet of louis' car. they've taken a pit stop somewhere in between the in-and-out and the motel. "we aren't going to possibly eat all of this in a night!"

 

"not if you keep talking, we won't," louis shoves the bag of crisps towards harry, his mouth full. "keep eating."

 

harry laughs and takes another handful of crisps as louis curses.

 

he shoves his hand into his pocket. harry watches him in surprise until he pulls out something glittering.

 

harry's bewilderment quickly turns to shock.

 

"almost forgot," louis grins, holding out a silver chain with a small flame charm on it. "nicked this for you back when we stopped at that store for clothes. thought it suited you."

 

harry's mouth falls open.

 

it's beautiful, really. exquisitely made, delicate, ornate. the flame is solid gold etched with soft blues, quiet reds, glowing oranges. it catches the light as harry tilts it around in his palm.

 

"louis!" he gasps, his eyes wide. "you can't go stealing things like this! you're going to get--"

 

louis shuts him up with a long kiss, a kiss that ends with harry pressed against the bonnet and louis straddling his waist, both of them breathless and flushed in the face.

 

"i knew it had to be yours," louis whispers, stroking his hair fondly. "and god knows i don't have enough money. so let's pretend we're borrowing it, yeah?"

 

"yeah," harry pulls louis down again. "details, details."

 

louis grins.

 

"that's my boy."

 

-

 

night has fallen by time they make it to the motel.

 

it must look weird, the pair of them showing up late at night with bags full of assorted snacks and alcohol. except this isn't a reputable place, and the manager behind the desk doesn't even give them a second look as she slides the key towards louis.

 

they're silent as they make their way to the room.

 

even inside, the words don't find the way to their lips. they look around the shabby place, at the creaky single-person bed in the middle of the floor, at the peeling, yellow wallpaper and chipped windowsill paint. it smells musty in here, like unwashed bodies and stale sweat. the tv is cracked and the light flickers when louis finally switches it on.

 

harry plays absentmindedly with the new silver chain around his neck as he looks around.

 

"i can take the floor," louis mutters, and for the first time, harry can see how embarrassed he is. "i'll ask for extra blankets or--" 

 

"louis!" harry laughs incredulously, "we've slept next to each other before on the rooftop. how is this any different?"

 

except louis doesn't crack a smile. he just sighs tiredly and fishes a bottle out of one of their bags. he cracks it open and slides against the wall until he's sitting on the floor, knees close to his chest and eyes staring at the ground.

 

harry frowns.

 

"what's wrong?" he asks quietly, taking a seat across from louis. louis closes his eyes and turns away. "c'mon, louis. just tell me."

 

"jesus, harry." he tips the bottle back and shudders at the burn of the alcohol. "you don't get it."

 

"if you tell me, i'll make a valiant effort."

 

harry fixes louis with a steady, determined gaze. louis scrubs a hand down his unshaven face.

 

there's a long pause before louis finally speaks.

 

"do you know how it feels to let someone like you down?" he says bitterly. "you want so much from the world--which you deserve, harry--but you want it from someone like me. you asked me about going away together when this ends. you asked me to promise you that i'll take you from this place. but _this_ is all i have to offer, harry! you want to run away like a hollywood film and live happily ever after, but you're looking at our reality with your own two eyes. you wouldn't be happy like this."

 

louis closes his eyes again and tips the bottle back.

 

"that's what you're worried about?" harry is almost laughing in his relief. "you're an absolute tosser! you think that i expect golden carriages and king sized beds where we go? i know what reality is. i've lived the worst parts of it, and i know what to expect from the world. but being with you would change all of that, louis! you're the only thing that matters to me. whether we sleep in a damp cave or... i dunno...  the taj mahal _,_ it'll all feel the same. i don't _care_ where we go or how we get there, as long as you're the one by my side."

 

louis fixes him with a gaze and shakes his head.

 

"your never-ending faith in me is ridiculous," he mutters. "you think i'm a better person than i am. shit, harry, you don't even know the first thing about my outside life and yet you trust me enough to run off with me!"

 

"we can work out the kinks later," harry grins, crawling toward louis. "but for now..."

 

harry pries louis' knees apart and straddles his thighs, his eyes gleaming. he reaches for the bottle in louis' hand and tips it down his own throat, wincing at how it burns. sort of like kissing louis.

 

louis and his nicotine lips and vodka kisses. 

 

"harry," louis says wearily, "please. just think about what you're doing, yeah? i'll take you where you want to go, but if i wake up and you're not there...'"

 

"shh," harry giggles, pressing forward to kiss him. "you're talking too much."

 

" _harry,"_ louis cups his face in his hands to stop him from getting any closer. "i'm serious. this is important stuff. this is like... i dunno... a commitment."

 

"well," harry huffs, sitting back. "let's make this easy. do you want me, louis?"

 

"huh?"

 

louis looks at him blankly.

 

"i asked you, _do you want me?"_ harry repeats. "not a hard question, louis. do you want me to go with you?"

 

"yeah," louis says after a beat. "yeah, i think i do."

 

" _think_ isn't good enough," harry blinks at him. his face is oddly calm. "not for what we're going to do. be invested, louis."

 

there's a pause.

 

"yes, harry," louis finally says. "yes i want you with me after this ends. who knows where we'll head to, a couple of lunatics like us, but we'll figure it out as we go."

 

"that's the answer i was looking for," harry breaks louis' grasp and leans forward until they're only a hair width apart. "now, _show_ me you want me."

 

louis searches his moonlight-splashed face.

 

and then louis is closing the space between them. and then he's kissing harry, kissing harry with everything he can muster. he tastes the vodka on harry's lips, feels the way he breathes into louis' mouth, hears the way he mewls in contentment. when louis traces harry's lips with his tongue questioningly, harry immediately lets louis kiss him deeper.

 

louis feels it again. the itch in his fingertips. but this itch is different. this is the itch to touch harry, touch every part of his quivering body, to feel contours of his shoulders underneath his hands. louis has never experienced wanting like this. it's a desire that fills his mind and drowns out everything else until he can only see harry, feel harry, touch harry.

 

louis burns, _oh god he burns,_ but harry is a boy made from flames and harry _loves it._

after about five minutes, their clothes are in messy heap on the floor. after about ten, louis and harry are tangled in the bedsheets together, bodies intertwined and hearts racing. after fifteen, louis traces harry's fire pendant, breathless, as harry asks him for the one thing louis knows he can give him.

 

the night becomes a whirl of brilliant reds and fiery oranges and dazzling golds. louis' body becomes part of harry's with slow, deliberate thrusts, movements in the shadows that make the world feel like it's stopped spinning. silence is swallowed with gentle cries and soft whispers and the sound of louis' lips on every part of harry's skin he can reach. the moonlight illuminates harry's blissed-out face and louis' furrowed eyebrows as he moves in and out of harry's body, their skin flushed and hands quivering.

 

when louis finally comes, he sees the stars and the sun and harry's glassy eyes.

 

[+]

 

(day twenty-seven)

 

his fingers move across louis' skin in the weak morning sunlight.

 

louis is still asleep, his mouth slightly open and his eyelashes sweeping over his cheeks. his hand is curled underneath his chest and the other one rests close to harry's face. he looks young in sleep, child-like. there's an innocence about him that makes harry's chest ache.

 

he runs a feather touch up louis' bare arm, marveling at the smooth expanse of skin.

 

louis stirs again, his mouth twitching. he lets out a small sigh. harry holds his breath, but louis goes still once more.

 

here, in the light of day, harry can see how glorious louis' body really is.

 

his arms are tanned golden and well-shaped. the bulge of his bicep is easy to see, even from this angle. louis' back is a wonder in itself, all muscles and slender angles and curves. the slope of his shoulders stands out against the smooth skin and harry is reminded of a chiseled roman statue. the sheet covering louis' lower half of his body stops harry's gaze from traveling any further, but it doesn't take a vivid imagination to picture what lies underneath.

 

harry sighs happily. his own body aches and he didn't really sleep well last night, but he's waking up to louis and that's all he could ever ask for.

 

he brushes louis' hair out of his face and kisses the slope of his nose.

 

"good morning," harry murmurs against louis' warm skin. louis cracks a blearily eye and lets out a low sigh. he blinks at harry for a few moments, a ghost of a smile hanging on his sleepy lips.

 

"morning, fire boy," louis says after a while. he stretches luxuriously, his back arching. after a moment, he runs a hand through his tousled hair and his eyes fall on at harry's bare body. he raises an eyebrow. "well. this is certainly one good way to wake up."

 

"you're ridiculous," harry squirms closer to louis and louis opens his arms without question. the way harry's head fits underneath louis' chin makes him sigh in contentment.

 

after a pause, harry adds shyly, "louis?"

 

"mhm?"

 

"i could do this every day," harry breathes, smiling into the soft skin of louis' throat. he nibbles there for a second. "being here with you, waking up with my body aching in the best way possible, seeing you asleep next to me. feels right."

 

"yeah?" louis' breath catches a little as harry keeps his lips moving against the sensitive skin of his neck. "well, i suppose that's going to be the new normal for us, so..."

 

"so we're leaving together when we're discharged?" harry lifts his head in wonder.

 

"yeah. yeah fire boy, we are."

 

"and..." harry searches for the words. "you'd promise me in the dark or the light?"

 

"either one."

 

harry kisses louis then, kisses him furious and hard and doesn't let him go.

 

"we're gonna be so good," he whispers against louis' mouth. "we're gonna go out there and be so, so good."

 

"i know, fire boy," louis moves against him, his hips brushing into harry's back. and _christ_ if he knows what he's saying, what he's promising, but it doesn't matter because he'll give it to harry as best as he can. "we'll burn it all down as we go."

 

and again, harry wants to feel louis' words, not just hear them. he lets louis gently move from underneath him and watches with glassy eyes as he repositions himself above his body. the sun basks louis in golden light, in dazzling splendor, in a cloak of flames. harry can feel their burn when louis slides inside of him once more, louis' head buried in his neck as harry's back arches with each thrust.

 

it's slow and easy and full of promises made with silvery touches and kisses of gold. louis swears he'll never let harry go and harry just pulls him closer, pulls him in, and prays to god that louis means what he says because without him, harry knows he would drown.

 

smoke on smoke, fire on fire, ashes to ashes.

 

_we all burn down._

-

 

dusk is dripping across the sky when louis and harry finally arrive at the institute.

 

after a long day of driving, they're mostly tired. they don't speak much as they sign in at the front desk, don't comment as their ankle bands are removed. no one really notices them because no one is really looking, which is fine. louis and harry, they've got time to figure out the rest of the world.

 

when they have to part ways at their rooms, harry feels empty as he watches louis walk away.

 

-

 

"how was your break?" zayn is grinning over the top of his sketchbook when harry walks in. "you look smashed, mate."

 

"it was good, yeah," harry shrugs. he absentmindedly plays with the pendant laying on his chest. "didn't really do much. you?"

 

"less exciting than your weekend." zayn's eyes flicker to harry's neck. "then again, i wasn't nestled away with louis in some motel."

 

there's a brief pause.

 

"jesus christ," harry mutters. "how do you always know?"

 

"louis doesn't have a place, so where else would he stay? and you really should tell him to cut down on the hickies if you want to keep it a secret," zayn says casually. "plus i know the look of a man who's had a good fuck, even if your sex hair didn't already tell me. you two, you're shameless you know."

 

harry buries his face underneath his pillow as zayn's laughter echoes in his ears.

 

[+]

 

(day twenty-eight)

 

patrick is delighted to see them again.

 

even though it's only been two days, it feels like a lifetime since harry has sat in this circle. nothing has really changed--except the fact louis now sits at his side, their thighs touching. zayn is next to harry on his left and smirks knowingly the whole time.

 

people notice. niall is first. he just grins. nick throws them a dirty look and tom mutters something that makes louis' muscles tighten and his fists ball up. the comment makes the whole group freeze, their eyes on louis to see how he'll respond. it's a tense few seconds. harry can see louis is about to explode.

 

harry's gentle hand on his leg is the only thing stopping him from launching at tom.

 

"relax,"' harry mutters. "it's fine, louis."

 

he notices louis isn't the only one who is smoldering. zayn's knuckles are white.

 

"welcome back!' patrick takes his seat at the head of the circle and the tension diffuses a bit. he isn't even aware of what has just happened. "i've missed you guys!"

 

there is a murmuring of _"we missed you too patrick"_ because patrick is the kind who would be genuinely sad if he didn't hear it back. all of them--in their own strange way--care for patrick. he's almost child-like in his sincere affection for his group, and _well._ no one wants to hurt his feelings.

 

"i hope you all has a good time on your break," patrick continues, "and that's where i wanted to open up today's conversation. what did you guys learn when you were out in the world again? has your perspective changed? have _you_ changed?"

 

someone coughs. harry gives a sidelong glance at louis and notices he's more relaxed.

 

"i think louis would like to say something," niall clears his throat and nods toward louis. "if you're willing, of course."

 

louis' head snaps up. he blinks.

 

"please do," patrick's eyes are wide and hopeful. "you always say fascinating things. i would really like it if you shared."

 

there's a brief pause. louis sighs and tilts his head back.

 

"right. okay, well..." he licks his lips and takes another breath. "on this break, i learned what it means to really care about something. before this, i didn't ever think about how my actions would affect other people around me, but being here has given me something to improve myself for. caring about someone is the most wonderful thing in the world, but _god,_ it's stressful."

 

louis laughs shortly.

 

"it's like... i want to give him everything, you know? he deserves the world. and it's easy to think that you're not good enough or whatever, especially when you look at him and think, _shit, he's so beautiful_. but being who i am, the best version i can be, that's all that matters." louis closes his eyes. "i learned what it's like to give yourself to someone in the fullest sense, not just with your body or with empty words. and i learned what it means to care about that. commitment, promises, they're a lot to give to someone, but when i'm with him... it doesn't seem so hard. _he_ makes it easy to want to be better. hemakes it easy to follow him into this oblivion we're heading towards. he makes it easy to be happy. and that's all i could ever ask for."

 

louis' words hang in the silence. niall is beaming at him. zayn's expression is softer. everyone's gazes are fixed on harry because it really doesn't take too much intelligence to figure out who louis is talking about.

 

patrick's eyes are watering. he wipes away the tears, his lip quivering.

 

"that was truly beautiful, louis," he gives him a watery smile. "you know, that's what makes this job worth it. people like you, who aren't afraid to be better, you're what it's all about. thank you so much for sharing."

 

louis gives a half shrug and leans back.

 

he doesn't have to look at harry to feel the stars in his eyes.

 

[+]

 

(day twenty-nine)

 

there are two more days left.

 

and harry is terrified.

 

it's easy to think about the future and feel the excitement race through your veins when you're looking at it from a distance. but the time is flying by so quickly, and the future is becoming more of the present, and harry would be lying if he were to say he isn't scared.

 

the world is waiting for louis and harry.

 

 _what is it going to be like when we fight?_ harry always finds himself wondering. he knows it isn't going to be all happiness and joy and kisses underneath bedsheets. things will get hard, he knows that. but how will louis handle it? how will _he_ handle it? because if harry knows one thing, he knows he couldn't survive if louis left him.

 

what happens when they have to get a place and pay rent and buy food and gas and all the extra things life together entails? harry had never thought about those challenges. it seems like such a foreign thought, such an _adult_ lifestyle, and he realizes with a jolt that he _is_ an adult. louis and harry will have to live in the real world among real people and live like the rest of them. harry doesn't even know how to go about such things, and he's sure louis is just as clueless.

 

that's the thing. they don't know what they're doing. harry isn't stupid enough to trick himself into believing it isn't a recipe for disaster. it keeps him up at night as the thoughts run circles around his mind.

 

 _we'll be okay,_ he tells himself firmly. _we'll be okay because there is no other option._

 

[+]

 

(day thirty)

 

harry doesn't have to wait for the hardships to begin.

 

it's late at night and louis is leaning against the wall, a cigarette dangling between his fingers and his hair falling over his eyes. he looks so tired. _so, so tired._ the weariness dims the flames in his eyes.

 

"we don't have anywhere to go, harry," louis says flatly. "i've been making calls and there isn't anything out there for us. i have enough money for us to live off for two weeks if we're smart. _then what?"_

"i dunno," harry's voice is quiet. "but we'll make it, right? you promised. even if we're sleeping on sidewalks, you promised."

 

"don't be a child, harry!" louis snaps. he lights the cigarette and takes a deep inhale, closing his eyes. his voice is softer when he finally speaks again. "you know we can't live like that. we have _nothing._ fuck, harry, i just don't know."

 

"it'll be okay," harry is almost pleading, his eyes filled to the brim with tears. " _say_ it'll be okay, louis! _say it!"_

louis pulls at his hair and curses under his breath. there are bags under his eyes.

 

"i can't, harry. i can't say how it'll go."

 

"then say we'll be together!" a tear glitters on harry's cheek and louis feels himself being ripped apart. "that was the promise. say it!"

 

louis pulls him close to his body, smells his vanilla scent and feels his warm breath against his neck. he inhales and closes his eyes, stroking harry's back. his boy, his fire boy, reduced to tears in his arms. louis never wanted it to be like this.

 

"yeah, harry," he murmurs. "we'll be together at least. no matter what."

 

[+]

 

(day thirty-one)

 

the end shouldn't feel so normal.

 

it shouldn't feel so routine when harry wakes up the next morning. it should feel monumental. this is it. the last day. the last time he'll greet the morning in this bed. but when harry opens his eyes, he just feels tired.

 

he didn't sleep that night.

 

zayn knows something is wrong. he's packing his stuff when harry finally sits up, his marvel jumper hanging off his skinny frame and his honey eyes looking oddly sad. zayn sets his stuff down and looks at harry for a long time.

 

"i heard you and louis arguing yesterday," he says bluntly. "i know i can't do much to fix it. i can't pretend to know what's going on between you two. but he loves you, harry. he loves you so badly. he'll go to the end of the world for you, no matter what happens."

 

harry feels the tears pooling behind his eyes again. he wipes them away with a shaking hand.

 

"it's so scary, zayn," he whispers miserably. "it's going to be so hard. we don't know the first thing about any of this."

 

"harry. listen." zayn leans forward. "you have something money couldn't ever take care of. you belong together. you have a real, honest genuine love. that will carry you through it, i'm telling you. i had nothing growing up, but my parents loved each other, and that was always enough."

 

harry nods because he doesn't know what to say and zayn wraps his arms around him, pulling him close.

 

"you'll see, fire boy. you two will take the world by storm and leave flames in your footsteps."

 

-

 

the dining hall is a clutter of luggage and brightly-dressed boys.

 

everyone is milling around, exchanging numbers with those who they've befriended, talking to those they'll never see again. it's happy here. people are excited to go home. it all feels wrong to louis.

 

he can't find harry in the crowd of people, but he sees niall. niall beckons him over, smiling from ear-to-ear, his blue eyes gleaming. he hugs louis closely and louis--despite his sadness--hugs niall back.

 

"thank you," he murmurs into niall's shirt, "for everything. thank you so much."

 

"no problem, mate," niall pulls away and claps him on the back. "you take care of that boy of yours, yeah? you two have big things ahead of you."

 

louis smiles softly. "yeah. yeah, i will. see you around, niall."

 

niall gives him a little salute and turns away. louis watches him fade into the crowd.

 

and then louis wanders around again, trying to memorize every part of the place that made him so happy. he smiles at the boys he grew to know, waves at the ones who became his friends. a month ago when louis sat in this place, he didn't ever expect to walk out of here like this. his life would be unrecognizable to the man who first showed up here.

_patrick finds him sitting alone at a table_.

 

patrick is a mess. his eyes are red and puffy, his cheeks tear-stained. he gives louis a watery smile.

 

"congratulations on making it, louis," his voice is so proud. "i'll never forget the way you changed my life. you're amazing, and don't you ever lose sight of that, okay?"

 

"yeah," louis can't help but return patrick's smile. "thanks for being there, patrick. you did so much for us. for harry and for me."

 

that sends patrick over the edge. he starts crying again, mumbling how it was his pleasure and how he never met two more lovely people. he tells them to stop by whenever they want and promises they always have a place to stay under his roof.

 

patrick slips his personal card into louis' hand and gives him one last, long hug.

 

it shouldn't be hard, louis knows that. but he still feels a lump in his throat when he finally pulls away and watches patrick's flaming red hair disappear into the mass of bodies.

 

louis swallows thickly and looks at the card.

 

 _patrick orwell, always here for you! the line is open twenty-four seven_.

 

his phone number is underneath. louis pockets it and takes a deep breath.

 

he has to go find his boy

 

[+]

 

what a fitting place for the end.

 

the place where it all started for louis and harry is the place where they'll say goodbye to the institute. louis never really was into hollywood film endings, but he admits it feels pretty film-like when he ascends the stairs to the rooftop and finds harry sitting in the same place louis has seen him so many times over the last month.

 

harry doesn't turn around when he hears the crunch of gravel.

 

so louis just sits down next to him without a word, their bodies touching. harry puts his head on louis' shoulder and sighs. louis strokes his skin.

 

it's a beautiful day for it all to end.

 

"remember when we first came here," harry says after a while, "and you said how pretty the city was?"

 

"yeah." louis' answer is quiet. "feels like a long time ago."

 

"it does," harry agrees. "it's so strange. we'll be there in a few hours. away from here."

 

louis' body tightens. he closes his eyes.

 

"yeah. we will."

 

they don't talk for a long while.

 

the wind blows harry's curls against louis' skin. the sun makes him look so clean, so young, so happy. fresh air brings harry alive; louis can see the green of his eyes and the pink of his cheeks  and the dimple of his smile.

 

he exhales deeply.

 

in the distance, he can see the field where he remembers truly feeling something like love for harry. he remembers laying under the stars and feeling as if his heart would burst right through his chest. that was a lifetime ago, louis thinks as he sits here. now louis knows he loves harry,  loves him with every ounce of his being. now they sit on the rooftop with the rest of their lives looming ahead of them and that love is the only thing they have.

 

louis squeezes harry's hand.

 

"i saw patrick and niall," he murmurs. "patrick was crying, poor guy. he gave me a card to call him if we need anything. he really was so great. and niall... he told me to take care of you. i told him i would."

 

another pause.

 

"wish i could've said goodbye to them," harry sniffs. "they made this place nice."

 

"nah, fire boy, don't worry about it," louis gives harry a smile as he gets up. he tugs harry along with him. "i feel like we'll see them again. sometime in the future."

 

louis steps closer to harry. he gazes at his features, at his glimmering green eyes and pink satin cheeks and the bow of his red lips. his boy is beautiful, _so beautiful._ louis sighs deeply and brushes a curl from harry's forehead.

 

"we've got the world to see," harry whispers, blinking slowly. "are you ready, louis?"

 

"yeah." louis feels himself grinning. "yeah, harry. i'm ready."

 

harry wraps his arms around louis' neck. his gaze is filled with excitement, a little bit of apprehension, and a lot of love. louis doesn't let his eyes leave harry's face. his hands find harry's waist as he pulls them closer.

 

" _show me, louis,"_ harry breathes, the wind whipping his hair across his face. "one last time. _show me you're ready."_

 

and _god,_ louis does.

 

louis kisses harry until he's gasping for oxygen. he kisses harry until his lungs burn for air and his heart feels as if it's going to explode. he kisses promises into harry's mouth, into his body, promises that they'll be okay, promises that they'll make it. louis doesn't know what's going to happen and he can't pretend to guess, but he knows he'll give everything for harry, down to his last breath of air.

 

harry's flame charm glitters in the sunlight.

 

_they'll be okay._

 

smoke on smoke, fire on fire, ashes to ashes.

 

_we all burn down._


End file.
